


Flesh Wounds

by Nisaki



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt Sam, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Self-Harm, Wincest Writing Challenge, implied wincest, round 3, this is sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-02
Updated: 2016-12-02
Packaged: 2018-09-03 16:56:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8721553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nisaki/pseuds/Nisaki
Summary: It's the wounds that can't be seen that hurt the most.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Another month! Thanks to the wonderful people organizing this challenge.  
> this is written for round three, let's go to the movies. prompt ''It's Just a flesh wound'' Monty Python (Dean, 06x14)  
> My partner for this round is codepenkronk on tumblr.

 

_Just a flesh wound_

The line that Dean often used to dismiss Sam's concerns echoes in his head. Over and over again like a broken record, seemingly taunting him as Sam's voice keeps repeating the words

_just a flesh wound_

Sam made it his catch phrase, saying it every time he got hurt, looking almost relieved as he looked at the blood dripping down his skin. It's been driving Dean crazy for two months now. Two months, the pile of weird had been growing, two months of Sam avoiding him, never allowing Dean to touch him and always brushing it off when he got injured. _Just a flesh wound_ , and Dean's wondering whether it's Sam's way of making him hate his own words.

He keeps glancing at the passenger seat where Sam is sitting, shoulders tense and face contracted with pain. Sam is bleeding, The wound in his right shoulder is not simple, it's deep and it needs sutures and Sam won't let Dean have a look at it.

 _Leave it_ he'd snapped, he'd slapped Dean's hands away and got that _look_ , a frighteningly empty look that made Dean's skin crawl because Sam's eyes should never be without their light. And Dean knows he's lying to himself, avoiding the issue because he might not like the answer, because there might not be an issue at all and it's just Sam not wanting him near.

He doesn't want to face that, but he doesn't want to see his brother bleeding out on his passenger seat.

''Sa-''

''-Leave it, Dean''

''No,''

'' _Dean_..'' Sam's tone was strained, every sound clearly saying to leave it alone, telling Dean how this is not something to talk about. But Dean had had enough.

The tires squealed as Dean rolled the gear suddenly, parking the car faster than he'd ever done before. Sam flinches at the force Dean shut his door with, following his brother with his eyes worriedly, he'd been dreading this and now Dean had snapped.

''Get out,'' Dean snarls, arm trembling as it held Sam's door open.

''Dean jus-''

''-Get out of the car, _now_ ,'' Sam's heard it when Dean parked the car, the last thread of Dean's patience snapping. He gets out of the car obediently, head bowed, refusing to meet Dean's eyes.

''Strip,'' Dean orders, if Sam didn't know his brother, he'd think Dean would hurt him. The thing is; he knows Dean, knows that this is because Dean is worried about him, and it's exactly why he doesn't want to follow through.

He doesn't want to see Dean's face, doesn't want to see how much his big brother would be disappointed in him, doesn't want Dean to know how ugly he'd made himself and how it didn't even work.  But there's no arguing with Dean when he gets like this, so Sam starts to undo his buttons.  Shaky fingers opening the shirt slowly, trying to buy few second, petty moments that won't change a thing.

Dean's gasp as Sam's skin is revealed says it all, Sam closes his eyes, afraid of the disgust that's surely apparent on Dean's features.

Sam's eyes fly open, warmth enveloping him as familiar, strong arms pull him against firm chest, Dean's holding him, Dean is holding him and he can't take it anymore. His tears start to flow, hot and messy, ugly sobs make their way out of his throat and he muffles them by hiding his face in Dean's shoulder.

''Why, Sammy. Why would you do that?'' Dean's voice is raspy, like he'd just swallowed razors. His eyes sting with the urge to water but he orders his tears away, he needs to listen to Sam, needs to understand. He hates that he let it go on. Two months, two fucking months, sixty one days, so many hours. What was Sam feeling then? sitting alone inflecting these wounds on himself?

''I just wanted to get them _out_ , there's so many of them, so many, inside were they keep bleeding and hurting...if..if I get them out..they'd scar and _heal_ and stop..I just wanted it to _stop_..I'm sorry, Dean, I'm so sorry,''

 Dean is stunned speechless, he allows Sam to cling to him and wait until the shakes subsides and the sobs stop. He then sits Sam, stitching his cut then dressing it. They don't exchange a word and all the while Dean thinks, why didn't this happen before? what has it started? and more importantly, how's he going to fix it?

He stays where he's kneeled in front of Sam, growing hopeless as the night air goes cold and humid. Thick, dark clouds cover the moon and promise rain. Dean didn't fancy getting wet, they have to find a motel before it starts.

The universe, however, had never followed Dean's plans, and wasn't about to start now. It showers down, drops hammering on the ground, flooding the asphalt and soaking Dean. At least Sam is still dry.

He stands and looks up, lets the rain wash his face, the irony is not lost on him, it's raining, the sky is crying the tears he won't allow to fall, he doesn't want to be wet or cold, but he thinks it's appropriate,  he'd be far angrier if it was a bright night.

''Dean? Can you please not stand there?'' Had it been another time, Sam would be there with him. It's not that he doesn't want to, but he has fucked up enough for one night, or perhaps the whole year and now Dean doesn't even want to get in the car with him. Dean moves though, he gets back into the car and faces Sam. He pulls out the dagger he always has around his ankle and hand it over to Sam, then wordlessly, he starts stripping, soaked cloth clinging to his skin, making it harder for his shirt to come off.

Sam just stares at his brother's exposed chest, tight muscles dripping water, down at the knife in his hand, then back up at Dean's face.

''Dean?'' Whatever it is Dean's trying to tell him, he's not getting it. The rain falls harder, the sound of drops on the metal of the impala so load it's almost frightening. The thunder roars and Sam flinches, he hasn't been afraid of thunder in so long.

''Cut me, Sammy,'' Dean's words make no sense, so Sam doesn't move, continues to shiver and gaze at Dean, if he looked hard enough he might be able to understand what Dean wants him to do.

''I don't understand,'' He says, it's a first because he always gets Dean, more times than not, his brother doesn't even need to talk for Sam to understand.

''I get it, Sammy. The wounds on your soul, you can't see them. You need to see them heal, I get it. Put them on me, little brother,''

He can't do that of course he can't, he won't hurt Dean, he never wanted to.

''It's okay, Sammy. It's too much for just one person, I know., but you're not alone, you have me. Let's share it,''

The tears slide down his cheeks with renewed intensity, competing with the hard rain. And Sam can hold the knife no longer, he drops it and it lies forgotten as he throws himself at Dean, seeking shelter in the cocoon of Dean's strong arms. He cries so much, till his tears run out and his throat  sores then he cries some more. Dean never utters a word, just embrace Sam, all warm love and acceptance.

There are flesh wounds, simple ones that scar. And for each one you can see on Sam's skin there are ten you can't. The ones that hurt the most, untold stories craved into his bones and walking down his veins. Some he'll never recover from, some he's learnt to live with. Dean knows, Dean wants to know. He'll carry them on his skin proudly if Sam let's him, if it might help. He'll present his body canvas to Sam's pain, if Sam has to hurt, let them hurt together.

''Tell me about them?'' He asks Sam, gentle and coaxing. Feels Sam's nod as Sam's nose brushes his neck. Hesitantly, Sam leaves his hiding spot and looks at Dean, nodding again as if to strengthen his resolve.

''This one is for the first year in the cage,'' he points at his scars and list, ''This one is from the time I spent without you in the bunker,'' he lists and list, and Dean doesn't interrupt him. Later, he'll talk later, now he'll listen. And that doesn't make it better, it changes nothing or means nothing or perhaps it's everything. Dean doesn't know. He doesn't know how they're going to deal with this, but he's not about to give up.

This is Sam in front of him, ribs visible with every breath, skin scarred and broken, dry tears on his cheeks, dark circles under his eyes and his hair greasy. And he's so, so beautiful.

This is _Sam_ , and Dean is not giving up.          

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is love


End file.
